Sweeter Than Water
by Trins xxx
Summary: The world as they know it ends, and not in a way any of them imagined. Facing a post-apocalyptic reality can bring out the worst in people but it can also bring out the best. And for Britta, it might be just what she needs to remind people that Britta can mean much more than just screwing things up. It can stand for something inspirational, something to aspire to... Pro-Britta
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer****: **I don't own Community. I doubt I could create something quite this wonderful by myself.

**Author's Note****: **So what more extreme situation could our favourite Greendale gang find themselves in, if not a post-apocalyptic world. AU from when Pierce was still alive, alluding to Jeff/Britta and Jeff/Annie, this starts where the story actually ends. And the fun of the story is finding out how they got there.

For the fans of Annie and Annie/Jeff – don't judge the story until you've read down to the end. The start is misleading in many ways, so please bear with me.

* * *

**Sweeter Than Water**

Prologue

'Work gives you meaning and purpose and life is empty without it.'

_~ Stephen Hawking ~_

The sounds of rustling in the overgrowth reached his ears and Abed accordingly tightened his hold on the gun, eyes swiftly searching the area for any signs of movement. His fingers had formed a solid grip on his Colt and he had trained it in the vicinity of the sound when the figure stumbled forward. It took a few more seconds for him to recognise the figure.

'Jeff?' His grip didn't lessen and he continued to keep it focused on the area. 'Britta?' His voice sharpened at the question. It wasn't until Jeff was only a couple of feet away that Abed relaxed his stance and moved forward to help Jeff. Putting his arms around the shorter man, he took much of Jeff's weight, easing his hobble towards the building. Now that he was closer, he could see the pallor on his face, the beads of sweat rolling down and the dark stain on his left leg that would undoubtedly turn out to be blood. Still no Britta in sight but he pursed his lips, choosing to help him inside the building as another guy took his place. There would be time enough for questions once he was settled and they could see the damage done to his leg.

It didn't take long for Annie and Shirley to find the two of them in the first apartment on the left of the entrance to the block of apartments, and even less time for them to cut off Jeff's jeans.

'I'm okay. It's just a graze,' he had protested weakly but all of them had ignored him. As it turned out, Jeff was right. It was just a graze requiring little more than cleaning and steristrips.

'Jeff, where's Britta?' Shirley asked, her voice carefully level as she applied the steristrips whilst Annie held the skin puckered together. His eyes were closed and his head leaning backwards, but the only change came in the form of his forehead becoming more puckered.

More pain, Abed thought, but was it physical or emotional? He wasn't surprised that Troy and Pierce hadn't come down. Pierce was still recovering, and Troy had probably noticed that only Jeff had returned. No doubt, he would rather hear the worst of it from Abed, details omitted or edited.

Abed watched him closely, picking up on signs and interpreting them in a manner that would've been unfathomable to him a mere 6 weeks ago.

'It was part of her plan all along,' he finally said tiredly. 'Or at least, it was always her Plan B if shit hit the fan.'

'Is she dead?' Annie asked bluntly and not for the first time, Abed wondered what was going on in the brunette's head and how she really felt about the missing blonde.

'No!' Jeff replied quickly, maybe even a little tersely, looking someone in the face for the first time since arriving. 'We managed to waylay the armaments but we were outnumbered, outgunned.' He licked his lips, eyes burning into Annie's as he carried on speaking. 'You know they have her brother – the rumour's been circulating for weeks. I think she was always looking for a way in, to find him, whether it was breaking in or...'

'What happened Jeff?' Shirley prompted tiredly.

'When I got hit, she provided distraction.' Unnamed emotions passed across his face within seconds until he was impassive again. 'She got hit – I don't know how badly. She told me to get back and she...' He swallowed a lump. 'She gave herself up.'

'What do we do now?' Annie asked as the others absorbed the information.

'We carry on fighting,' Jeff spoke grimly, the leader in him emerging despite the exhaustion. 'And we get Britta back.'

'What's the point?' Annie's tone was harsh, her eyes even more so. 'It's not like we're ever going to win. And she's probably dead already,' She drew in a steadying breath, before continuing with an afterthought. 'Like he brother. It's idealistic and completely unrealistic.'

'Do you even care, Annie?'

The brunette tilted her head in confusion at Shirley's docile question.

'About Britta? About the fact that she might be dead? Do you even care about it?' It was Abed's turn to tilt his head as Shirley's voice gained cast iron. 'Because you've made it abundantly clear that you don't give a shit about the thousands of innocent people that were killed abroad or the hundreds of people that are missing and presumed dead here. You clearly don't care about '_idealism_' or, you know, democracy in practice, so if you don't even give a shit about one of us captured and presumed dead, I don't really know what you're doing here.'

The silence felt stifling, intoxicating and poisoning like smog and nobody dared to utter a word. Annie was spluttering silently, mouth opening and closing and moving in all directions with no sound coming out. It should've felt like a bombshell but it felt more like inevitability and Abed was too tired to really care enough about the ultimatum to think of any movie or TV comparisons.

Finally, a word squeaked out. 'Jeff?' Annie was an intermingled mess of imploring and demanding and it was just typical of her to turn to Jeff to bail her out that Abed would've banged his head against the wall, if he had the energy.

What wasn't typical was Jeff's silence. His eyes were boring into Annie's but there was no googling or love-tinted glasses. It was a viperous stare that had both Abed and Shirley leaning forward.

'Jeff?' Her voice trembled with uncertainty now, brow furrowing, her eyes assessing the planes of the blonde's face, searching for an answer she didn't seem to find.

'Do you give a shit about Britta?' He asked bluntly.

'I- Of course I do but...' She sucked in a painful breath. 'It just...it all feels so futile. How many people have we lost? And how many have we gotten back? It just feels like it's all pointless. What are the chances we'd succeed?' She sounded defeated.

'You think it's pointless trying to save Britta?' Shirley's voice was ice.

'It's interesting because there's no doubt that Britta would have tried to save you without a second thought if the positions were reversed,' the words tripped out, one after another, from Abed's lips as he watched Annie's colour recede even further.

'It doesn't matter. She's either one of us or one of them, and she seems to have made that choice,' Jeff broke the silence, eyes focused solely on his wound and away from Annie's watering eyes.

'That's not true.' For the second time, Abed surprised himself with the words traipsing off his lips. The single lamp lighting the room was casting shadows, the slightest movements causing them to dance like haunting phantoms. It felt stifling, this room full of ultimatums and betrayals of friendship. 'Britta would never accept a binary choice. And she'd be pretty pissed off to find that we were turning our backs on each other. I vote that if Annie wants to stay here, she can. But if she thinks saving Britta or fighting for our cause is pointless, she should remain ignorant of our plans.'

'You can't exclude me!' Annie broke in harshly.

'But we're not excluding you,' Abed tilted his head, the better to try and understand the girl in front of him. 'You and your choices are excluding you. Troy's the same,' he shrugged dismissively. 'He doesn't want to know the bad details so I don't share them with him. Pierce is the opposite. He can't do anything to help us but he'd rather know everything, warts and all. At the end of the day, it's your choice whether you want to be with us or with other people, out there. And it's equally your choice as to whether you help us or not. But if you don't want to help us, don't you think it's our choice not to share our plots and plans with you?'

'Some choice,' her retort was brittle. 'This is emotional blackmail.'

'No, what _I _was saying was emotional blackmail,' the older woman was impervious to the younger one's tears. 'Abed is just talking logic.'

'Yeah, logic devoid of human emotions,' she responded bitterly.

'You might _think _I have no emotions but I do. I was worried about Jeff and Britta. Now I'm panicking about her. I miss her and more than that, I miss how life used to be. I'm pissed off with you, Annie. In fact, I'm downright furious and I'm _scared_ of feeling the sort of despair _you're_ clearly feeling. And I have no _idea_ where my dad is. More probably than not, he's dead or tortured on the way to death, for no other reason than being Muslim and not born in this country. And this is the dad who put up with me day in and day out and paid for my time in Greendale, _twice_. And if they got their hands on me, they'd probably do the same to me. So I might _sound_ monotonous and I may make excessive references to pop culture, but trust me when I say that I am _not_ devoid of emotions.'

'Abed...' The two syllables were drenched in guilt but his face remained expressionless.

'Enough. The rest of the conversation can wait till tomorrow.' Jeff grunted as he stood up, Abed automatically moving to his side to offer support. 'It'll give everyone time to think about what's been discussed and then make a choice.' His words were underlined with steel as exited the room.

The silence was deafening, with the only sounds being Annie's choked sobs, swallowed in the darkness of the room. Shirley looked at her, eyes narrowed, trying to read and understand a person she no longer felt like she knew.

'How much of this has to do with Jeff?'

'What?'

She was shaking, trembling like a leaf in a hurricane and Shirley wondered how she could not be moved by it. She might still have faith in Jesus but she felt like she was losing her faith in his principles. It was the intoxication of alcohol mixed with the despair she had felt back then. Her mouth itched for alcohol, her throat was parched. She licked her dry lips.

'How much of this has to do with Jeff? And Britta? Jeff and Britta being Jeff and Britta?' Time to mend bridges, even if this sounded like an unlikely start.

'There is no Jeff and Britta.'

'There isn't a Jeff and Annie either but it doesn't mean those feelings don't exist.' Her tone had gentled.

'And isn't that nice and patronising,' came the biting rejoinder. 'Goodnight Shirley. Thanks for the fortune cookie but no thanks.'

Shirley sighed. The darkness of the room suited her just fine, a nice complement to her thoughts and the jumbled mess that her feelings were. Bridges were burning left, right and centre and she was burning them herself, despite her intentions otherwise. Hell, it felt like the world was burning down around her and every time she closed her eyes, all she saw were blood and bodies. She never had been a zombie person or one for science fiction. When she thought of the end of the world, she thought about angels and saints, judgment and heaven. Instead, she found herself surrounded by dead innocents and morality a permanent shade of grey.

She sighed again. She doubted she'd be getting much sleep tonight either, exhaustion or not.

**43 Days Ago**

Annie managed to catch sight of the blonde that had been on her mind all day. It had been a couple of weeks since they had destroyed (and simultaneously saved) Greendale and it hadn't escaped her notice that the blonde seemed disgruntled about it all. She lengthened her stride, gaining on her quarry.

'Britta, hey Britta,' she nearly ran into her as the blonde stopped abruptly. 'Hey, where are you going? You know we have classes in the afternoon right?' Annie's smile was tentative, finding herself in unfamiliar territory.

'Yeah, I know. There's just some stuff I have to take care off,' her answer was as evasive as her gaze and Annie could practically feel the distance between them increasing.

'Anything I can help with?' The brunette was nothing if not persistent.

'No, don't worry. I'll see you tomorrow.' Hands firmly in her pocket, Britta politely dismissed her, which Annie chose to ignore.

'Britta, what's wrong?' She discarded any ingenuity completely, intuiting that blunt honesty would go down better right now. 'You've sort of been...' She bit her tongue on 'distant'. 'Distracted, lately and I am, we all are, sort of worried about you. Is everything okay?'

The first genuine in what felt like forever spread across Britta's face, bringing some warmth that had been sorely missing. Just as quickly, it became strained. 'Don't worry, it's fine. I'll be fine. I'll see you tomorrow, 'kay?' She turned and walked away, leaving behind an anxious, perplexed friend, staring at her retreating back.

* * *

**Author's Note – The Sequel****: **So when I first uploaded the chapter, I got two reviews critical of how I portrayed Annie. I was initially defensive and dismissive, until I realised that you guys can't see the story the way I see it; you don't know the whole story (yet) or how they got where they are. It's starting from a messed up place, and much of the story will be showing how they got there. It's not just Annie who's 'out of character', for a lack of better term. It's not like Jeff to consistently be cruel (without guilt) or for Abed to be venturing into the real world while Troy shies away from it. I consequently wrote an excerpt from the next chapter, focussing on Annie and Britta and sort of showing the start of the devolution of their relationship. I have also changed the tag to the story accordingly.

I also wanted to add that I was a fan of Annie/Jeff before I fell for Britta/Jeff, but I also love Annie/Troy and Britta/Troy. So basically I ship everyone. This story will make references to all the above but at present, I do not foresee any one relationship overriding the others. It's a story focused on people and group dynamics and friendships rather than romance. And it's also one which will not unfairly (or unjustly) bash a character - by which I mean some characters will be cruel and brutal about other characters, but it needs to be emphasised that they represent the feelings and opinions of the character, not the narrator. It will tease out everyone's weaknesses and develop back-stories and take inspiration from TV shows (and Jacob Pitts) but I want to reassure Annie fans – it will not bash her unnecessarily, only where the plot/character exposition/character development point of view requires it.

Finally, I do hope you guys enjoy the story.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer****: **I don't own Community.

**Author's Note****: **Full author's note at the bottom. Just to reiterate - this story will not be Annie-bashing. The reason the characters act the way they do has to do with what they've seen and gone through in the past few weeks. Which you will be finding out about slowly and is sort of the point of the story. As for pairings - I will not be stating at any point what the end-game pairings are but it will not be the reason for liking or disliking any characters.

Having said all that, this is a Britta-centric story and pro-Britta at that.

* * *

**Sweeter Than Water**

'Every man dies, but not every man really lives.'

~ _William Wallace _~

* * *

**Now**

In a perfect world, Britta would grit her teeth heroically and refuse to show any pain. Unfortunately, she was far from heroic and the world was far from ideal and the bullet wound wasn't only making her wince and grunt and occasionally let out a yell, it was making her eyes water enough for drops to fall down her cheeks.

Heroics be damned, the bullet hurt like a bitch. Or a son of a bitch, she thinks a moment later, because that urge to hold on to feminist ideals are far too embedded in her entire being to be defeated by The End of the World or Capture by the Enemies.

Regardless, it's relief she feels when they finally reach the armed trucks and she's dropped on to the floor. The ride has inevitable bumps but it's still considerably smoother than being manhandled and carried indelicately by a couple of douchebags with guns.

It's only the pain that keeps her awake; the soft lulling of the truck and the adrenaline draining away would have otherwise had her fast asleep. It's lucky, really, because she could use it to try and work out the location of their bases. The only problem is she doesn't have a watch, so she doesn't know how long they've been driving and after the first few turns, she lost track of the lefts and rights. She's fairly sure it was initially a right, then left, then left, but it could've been left, then right and right again… All in all, Britta's fairly sure she's Britta-ing this up.

It doesn't matter. Britta might stand for epic failure but it also stands for annoyingly persistent and she's going to use the latter to her full advantage.

As it turns out, the pain wasn't actually enough to keep her awake because when she's blinking her eyes open, she's acutely aware that nothing is shifting or moving, there're blankets over her and she is definitely not in a truck.

Okay, so her first plan failed like a dozen times over. It didn't mean that the rest of her nonexistent plans would.

She has to blink a few more times before her eyes become accustomed to the dark and she realises she's in a cell, with rods of iron barring her escape. In a different world, she would have described it as delightfully quintessential, reminiscent of the black and white movies she used to love in her younger days. Now, all she does is sigh. Her shoulders feel tense and her limbs feel heavy and she's pretty sure she's been drugged but the pain isn't excruciating, so maybe it's as much consideration as a ploy. It's not worth analysing further anyway, because it is what it is.

It takes a while before she hears shuffling sounds emanating from somewhere. By that time, she's checked the wound in her abdomen; it's been stitched up and looks clean and tidy, professional, and she doesn't know what to make of it. Why have they kept her alive? And comfortable? The shuffling sound is a much needed distraction, though her heart speeds up and she has to suppress her panic.

'You finally up?' A rich, southern, _male_ drawl reaches her. Despite her protests of being free and non-judgmental, she can't help but think that it's typical she would be stuck next to a Southerner – probably pro-life and pro-gun (nobody ever seems to find it contradictory) and pro-anti-freedom.

'Are you okay?' He speaks again after a pause, concern soaked in his voice. It's karma for her recent uncharitable thoughts, Britta thinks guiltily.

'Yup, I'm up.'

The silence settles but it feels expectant. He lives up to it. 'Are you okay?'

She blinks in surprise at his perception. 'Yeah, I'm okay,' her voice sounds uncertain even in her ears.

'You sure about that?' He responds just as quickly and there might've been a smile in his voice. She says nothing, absorbs the grey that surrounds her. The bleak, weak yellow light from the distant light bulbs accentuates the darkness surrounding them and Britta thinks it's fitting, entirely so fitting that someone that's done her part to destroy the world shoulder suffer in this darkness, in silence.

She doesn't hear much from the guy next to her. The quiet is unsettling in that it feels sort of comfortable, companionable. She rests her back against the cold walls, draws the blanket around her and thinks.

It feels like all she's done for the past couple of weeks is think. Her head should hurt but it seems harder to speak, to interact and engage with people, with _friends_. Time passes – Britta has no idea how much – but the monotony is interrupted by the opening of a distant door. It's been long enough for her abdominal wound to start niggling persistently.

'Timmy, you awake?' The voice wafts down the long passage. When Britta squints really hard, she thinks she can distinguish the outlines of cells lining both sides of the corridor.

'Well, if I weren't before, I am now,' he replies drily, his southern lilt more pronounced than before. 'The blonde's up too.'

Britta tenses, face drawing taut over her furrowed brow. Energy is suddenly thrumming through her body and she's ready for this, ready for a fight. It never comes.

'Are you talking about yourself in third person again, Goldilocks?' Her _jailor_ responded lightly, stepping closer and closer.

'If you were as awesome as I am, you'd talk about yourself in third person too,' his warm voice returned with a hint of attractive arrogance in it, words as light-hearted as his tone. 'But this time, I actually meant the lady next to me.'

_Lady?_ Despite the anticipation, Britta found something akin to a smile mixing with a smirk spreading across her face. It took a surprising amount of self-control to not snort at that. Her captor had no such problem, snorting loudly. '_Lady_? Playing up the Southern Gentleman act, aren't you?'

'Only _you_ think it's an act,' 'Timmy' replies, and this banter, this casual to and fro is dizzying, confusing, and Britta doesn't know what to make of it but she knows enough to not let her guard down. Not now, not again, never again. She straightens her back, eyes narrowing to slits as she tries to pierce the shadows and discern details, anything that could give her an edge. 'But I'm serious, she's awake.'

The shift is noticeable immediately. The casual steps become brisk with purpose, his face tilts more to his left, Britta's right (guess that meant the southerner was in the cell to her left) and it feels too real now, too imminent.

'Are you okay? Are you in any pain?' All she sees is a silhouette but his concern sounds sincere. It's very disconcerting. 'Ms Britta Perry?' He hesitates over the syllables of her name, questioning and uncertain. She thinks she's forgotten how to speak; she's pretty convinced she's forgotten how to breathe if the burning pressure on her chest is indicative. 'Do you need help?' His words are tentative and she doesn't understand, she just _doesn't understand_. Why would he be concerned? Why would he care? She shakes her head to rid it of these notions; he interprets it as an answer.

Heaving an audible sigh of obvious relief, he continues, 'Well, okay then. But if you're in any pain, let me know. We've got painkillers. Are you hungry? You must be hungry – you've been out of it for the better part of two days. I'll get you some bread and butter,' he nods without waiting for any answers and starts walking away with the same purpose that had brought him to her cell.

'Hope you like bread and butter,' the voice to her left is entirely too amused and Britta has to _literally_ bite down on her lips to stop from snapping back. She alienates potential allies readily and she's going against her very nature to not do that here.

'I think he's got a crush on you,' he teases her, his voice melting like butter. It's the straw that breaks her back; she can't stop herself from an unladylike derisive snort. There goes another ally.

'Oh I don't know,' he carries on cheerfully. 'I was quite taken with you too.'

The only thing more shocking than his comment is the sudden rush of blood to her cheeks.

The door opens and her guard is back, plate in hand. Britta seizes on the excuse to avoid a reply. The plate is passed to her and she takes it, examines it closely despite the dimness. The first bite decides it; she determines to stay silent for the entire stay.

She settles back in the cot she has for a bed, eyes drifting shut in spite of her best intentions.

She thinks it says a hell of a lot more about Greendale and its attenders that this situation feels far less precarious and dangerous than the numerous Paintball Wars that were waged at her community college.

* * *

**42 Days Ago**

This world almost overwhelms you. The variety, the sheer diversity of the crazies that chose to attend a community college that was infamous for their paintball battles taken to excess rather than any academic excellence…

You never understood why people chose to come here. _Correction_. You knew why Britta and the six people she befriended chose this college. The rest of the masses now spilling from its barely standing structure… You think they're all bat-shit crazy but then, you're more than willing to acknowledge that you are too.

Annie and Shirley notice you first, leaning against a shiny black Impala that has zero chance of blending in. Ah well, you're here for personal reasons, not professional, so there's minimal necessity to assimilate.

'That's a nice car,' Shirley's made a beeline towards you, her eyes wide with admiration. Annie's are wider than hers could ever hope to be, a bashful, alluring smile wide across her face. 'Are you new?'

You barely succeed in trapping a scoff before it escapes. 'Nah, I'm just waiting for someone,' you say instead, throwing them your most 'fuck-me-mindless' smile that you can manage. It's never failed before and it doesn't now; Shirley's smile is wider and there's an adorable flush working Annie's cheeks.

'Oh really? Who are you waiting for?' Annie flutters her eyelashes. She doesn't realise she's even doing it and there's something so innocent about that, something you used to have but could never hope to reclaim.

'Annie, _Shirley_,' Jeff's approaches you, eyes narrowed with distrust and undoubtedly jealousy, even if he denied it. You smirk, if only to rub a little salt in wounds that can't compare to the ones he's inflicted. 'What's going on? Who're you?'

'Nice manners,' you retort just as swiftly, practice allowing you to insert just the _right_ amount of arrogance to grate the guy. You shrug in a feigned attempt to dissipate the tension. 'I'm waiting to pick someone up and _these_ lovely ladies,' your eyes linger on both of them a fraction longer than necessary, 'complimented my car.'

Jeff's lips become ever thinner, eyes sharp and flashing and oh, you're enjoying riling this guy up _way too much_. You should probably stop but you let a smarmy smile spread across your face instead, taunting him, _tempting _him to do something rash.

A second later, it doesn't matter because you've caught sight of gold that has you nervous like nothing else does anymore. It's a golden you're altogether too familiar with, and not seen enough of.

She's wearing the frown when she doesn't quite understand something, squinting at whatever trashy textbook they recommend in a dump like this, and she's walking staring _down_ at the book. You let out a sigh of resignation without realising because how does she do that without bumping into anyone? If it's a gift, it's a bloody useless one. There're plenty of other gifts she would have benefited from more but she's a sight for sore eyes that you're more than happy to bask in and you never realise when the smarmy smile became a sincere one.

'Guys,' her voice reaches you through the fog you've surrounded yourself in. She sounds as preoccupied as you feel right now. 'Hey, have you read chapter two yet?'

You know exactly when she sees you. The colour in her face all but disappears before making a vengeful (and colourful) return. Her eyes widen in shock and there's a reminiscent mixture of pain and pleasure that you can see. Her mouth falls open and you can hear her words, though she doesn't speak.

_Hey Britta._

_I've missed you._

_How are you?_

_Did you miss me?_

Instead of any of those perfectly innocuous comments, what falls out of your lips instead is, 'We need to talk.'

Her face scrunches into an expression that's been scorched into your memories, the one that says she's ready for battle and it makes you feel absurdly proud that she hasn't lost that spitfire instinct of hers.

'I missed you,' you hasten to add, to dispel the war cries written on the wall. You give her a shit-eating grin to go with it too. She just huffs and rolls her eyes but you most definitely did notice her lips twitching upwards. You draw her to you, arms tight and probably a little painful but god, you've missed her. Over her shoulder, Jeff looks even more suspicious than before. It's probably the only time you've been tempted to give him any sort of credit.

* * *

**Now**

'You okay?' He sighed, sitting next to Annie when she didn't reply. 'Abed told me what they all said. It's not right, it wasn't fair on you.'

She scoffed. 'You're honestly telling me you think I don't want Britta dead?' Her words dripped venom as they never used to do and Troy blinked, wondering who it was aimed at really.

'I'm pretty sure you're the last person who'd want her dead. You did spend ages and ages trying to talk her out of the plan,' Troy replied instead, words coming easily to him now that he was staring at the wall instead of an unfamiliar Annie.

'How do you know that?' Something must've gotten through to her because that look of anger she wore as a shield was gone, curious eyes turning to face him instead.

'She told me, said it drove her up the wall,' he shrugged. 'She told me to look after you, if… If something happened to her.'

'She's an idiot.'

'She can be,' Troy agreed ambivalently. 'But she did have moments of insight. She used to tell me that the opposite of love wasn't hate, it was indifference.'

The silence felt less stifling now, less fragile but still not comforting. 'I hate her, sometimes,' the words burst from Annie like a small explosion in the tiny room. 'I hate her so much, sometimes.'

'I know,' Troy said, unruffled. 'I do too, sometimes, and that's okay. Because we only hate her because we care so much about her.' He continued, after a short pause. 'I wish she hadn't gone, either, but I sort of get why she did.'

'Do you? Because I sure as heck don't,' Annie's bitter laugh died before it had truly started.

'She wouldn't be Britta if she hadn't gone,' he answered simply. The silence grew by the seconds and he stood up to leave when Annie spoke again, refusing to look at him.

'I miss her.'

'I do too,' Troy's whisper lingered as he left the room.

Opening the door of his own room, Troy smelt the familiar stench of old man, mustiness, and Abed's currently preferred cologne. 'You okay, Pierce?' His eyes, as always, sought out the older man's first. Everyone had mourned his death and moved on swiftly, everyone except him. Maybe it was living with him or noticing the very infrequent instances of kindness meted out to him as well as by him, but Troy had reluctantly developed a soft spot. And when the world around them had crashed and burned, oftentimes literally, the majority of the group hadn't been furious about him faking his death. They had been grateful instead

'All things considered,' Pierce scoffed. 'Are _you_ okay?'

Troy could do little more than shrug his shoulders but he didn't fight it when Pierce patted the bed beside him. 'What's eating your mind?'

The silence grew. It festered, prickling uncomfortably at his skin but Troy stubbornly refused to open his mouth to break the silence.

'You know it's better to talk through things than to bottle it up. You don't have to be a half-assed psychologist like Britta to know that,' Pierce commented drily at last. It was the trigger that broke Troy's resolve.

'Don't describe Britta like that. She was worth a lot more than you ever realised or appreciated.' He wasn't sure how or when it happened but he found himself on his feet and pacing the room, anger flowing through his veins that he couldn't pinpoint the source of. All he sees is red, all he feels is a pent up fire rushing through him so he never notices Pierce's sad, if resigned, face or his surprisingly knowing eyes.

'And you know what? Even though everyone _judges_ Britta, she was the only one who tried to _not_ judge people,' he pauses to take a breath that does nothing to ease his burning chest.

'And you know what else? She's the only one who saves her anger for them,' he waves his arm in a general direction, Pierce correctly assuming 'them' meant the cowardly bastards out there. War in his days meant something entirely different.

'Who're you saving your anger for?'

The fight leaves Troy as suddenly as it had come and in the place of an angry young man is a sad, lost boy. He lies down on the bed, giving his back pointedly to the old man and waits for Abed to return. They don't speak to each other for the rest of the night.

* * *

**Full Author's Note****:** Okay, just to reiterate because this kicked up such a storm, it was a bit ridiculous. Guys, this is _fiction_, as in even the premise of what we are writing is fiction. As in Community and Annie and Jeff and Britta and co? All fictional. So firstly, chill out guys.

Secondly, if you don't like Britta, this is not the story for you.

Thirdly, this is not bashing any characters, Annie included. I had her the way I did for a reason, and she behaved like that for a reason and this chapter should show you that things aren't black and white or clearcut. But if you have a problem with my portrayal of Annie, feel free to not read it or say exactly why you disagree. A lot of defense will be 'but you don't know what's happened in the past 42 days **yet**'. Emphasis on 'yet'. This story is a story about showing us how to group we left at the end of season 5 became this, including a Pierce that is newly alive again!

Lastly, if you dislike my story and still feel the need to either write a flame or negative review, please leave a name at least, so I can address my replies to it.

**Review Replies** \- thanks to everyone that did review, negative or positive. They were actually almost all of them relatively constructive, some definitely more than others.

**Guest 1: **Don't like my portrayal of Annie, don't read it. Having said that, you should probably give chapter 2 a go, as it makes things a lot more grey and less 'Britta=good, Annie=bad'. Well, Britta still = good - it is a Britta-centric story after all but anyway, Annie isn't evil in my story. Sorry you didn't like the first chapter.

**Lisa: **Thank you for being more constructive regarding the story. Part of the reason for making all of the characters so extreme in the first chapter was to show the discord between the group members. Ie Annie isn't been so sweet or optimistic, much the opposite. Shirley doesn't feel like she is really following what her faith dictates or as she should be. Jeff normally rallies the group together but, if anything, he's isolating people. Abed is far more interactive with real life that he normally would be whereas conversely, Troy is sort of shying away from reality, more so than usual. And Pierce is alive. So yeah, my portrayal of Annie was harsh and intentionally so, but so was my portrayal of the other characters. Abed, you can sort of accept the autistic-spectrum sort of approach, but how has no-one called Shirley and Jeff out for being so harsh?! Anyway, I am hopeful that this chapter will be more to your liking.

**Guest 2: **Well done on picking that bit of the author's note up. And I'm sorry it's put you off this story. In my defence, I edited the stuff after a 12 hour night shift at the hospital, so if there aren't spelling errors or words that don't exist, I'm impressed with the editing. Either way, it's a shame you won't read the second chapter. I think you would actually approve of it.

**Imissjeffbritta: **I'm glad you enjoyed it but can I just remind everyone that this story isn't about ships? It's about the individuals and the group as a whole? And also...I seriously want to emphasise that **I make no promises on the end-game pairings**. Just so nobody is disappointed. But if you like Britta, you will hopefully love this story so I do hope you'll stick around.

**AmyGilli: **I'm glad you read the story and better late than never, I always say. Sorry it has taken so long to update this but the updates should be faster from now on. Tell me what you think of this, if you get the chance.

Thank you to **AmyGilli**, **Gary Fedorco **and **Imissjeffbritta **for favouriting and following this story.

Thank you to **1996garfield**, **TheOncomingWarlock **and ** .AC **for following this story.

I wasn't expecting such negative reviews but nor was I expecting so many favourites and follows afterwards, so thank you for all your feedback, negative and positive.

I hope you enjoy reading it!


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